


Forty-Eight

by Izzybutt



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Science Experiments, Well-lubed mathematical handjobs, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzybutt/pseuds/Izzybutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann finds a scientific journal online that proposes an interesting idea. Newt disagrees. Like good little scientists, they work together to find the truth. </p><p>The SEXY truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Eight

**Author's Note:**

> From the AO3 tag generator prompt game we/I came up with. I got the tag ‘Well-lubed mathematical handjobs’, and I hope I did it justice. Enjoy.

“Hm… interesting.”

“What is?” Newt rolled over to look at Hermann, putting down his tablet and his game of Kaiju Crush.

“Well,” Hermann began, turning to him from his seat at the desk. “There’s a study on here that proposes it’s possible to make the average man ejaculate with a mere forty-eight strokes of the hand.”

Newt blinked. 

“What? No way is that possible. Also, what the fuck are you reading?”

“One of my fringier mathematic periodicals.” He shrugged. “Do you disagree with it, then?”

“Uh, yeah.” Newt snorted. “They’re full of shit. No way in hell can you make a guy come with a 48-stroke handjob. Unless they were like, a virgin or something, but an average dude? No way.”

“If you say so.” He turned back to the keyboard.

Newt stared at him for a moment. 

“Wait, do you… _actually_ think it’s possible?” He snorted, derisively. 

“I _am_ looking at a study that claims it is.” He retorted, just a little bit offended by the implication. 

“Okay, Hermann, I love you, man, but biology isn’t your ‘thing’, alright?” Newt snickered, making Hermann all the more offended. “It’s _my_ thing. And I am telling you, that in my expert opinion as a dude with six doctorates in biological sciences, it is _impossible_ for a regular dude to come with that little amount of stimulation. Impossible.” He repeated, reaching for his tablet again. “Stick to math, dude.”

Hermann slammed his laptop shut. Newt jumped, just a little, at the sound and sudden action.

“Very well, then.” Hermann turned to him, all too calm for someone who had a near-permanent peeved look about him. “Dr. Geiszler, you’ve heard what the study proposes and you disagree. That’s enough to begin, I suppose.” He rose from his chair, taking his cane and hobbling over to their shared nightstand drawer. 

“Um, Herm, what are you doing?” Newt tilted his head, watching his partner bring out a bottle of lubricant. 

“It’s a scientific study, Newton.” Hermann replied, as if that were some sort of answer. “You can’t very well refute it if you’ve no evidence with which to do so.” 

He grinned down at Newt. “So we will make some.”

 

Five minutes and one dropped jaw later, Newt was pantsless and half-hard, sitting on the bed next to Hermann, who was already lubing up his hand. 

“Did they give any time limit for this?” Newt asked, face already a little red. It wasn’t like it was the first handjob he’d gotten before – not even the first one from Hermann – but there was something a bit kinky about all of this. They’d experimented in the bedroom before, sure, but never quite so literally. 

“No, simply that there are to be forty-eight strokes.” Hermann wiped off his other hand, then tugged his sleeve up a bit with it. He’d stripped down to his shirt, and Newt had pleaded for him to go further, but Hermann had claimed it could affect the study, somehow. Newt could see why, but wouldn’t dare tell Hermann that he was right about something. He’d admit to himself, though, that the first time he saw Hermann shirtless, he very nearly came in his pants like a teenager. The dude was ripped underneath all of those ill-fitting layers. 

“Does it specify if I need to be erect?” He asked, cheeks flushing again. All of this science talk in the bedroom was just adding to the kinkiness. Usually his dirty talk consisted of ‘Fuck’ and ‘Yeah’, or combinations of those two. 

Hermann grinned, flushing a little, himself. “It does not. We’ll assume for now that they’re experimenting on a man with a full erection, as that would take less time to reach ejaculation, than from flaccidity, yes?”

Newt gulped. “Yeah.”

Hermann looked down at Newt’s cock, and smirked. “But it seems you’re not quite there, Dr. Geiszler. Allow me to assist.” 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Newt’s, first. Newt kissed him back, eagerly – hungrily. He never got tired of kissing Hermann. If he didn’t need to breathe, or eat, or talk, he’d probably stay glued to his mouth all day and all night. 

Newt felt a prodding at his lips, and gladly parted them, letting Hermann’s tongue slide in between. He moaned into the other man’s mouth, reaching up to grasp at his hair. He could feel Hermann’s smile against his own. 

Then, he felt a still-slightly-slick hand slide down his lower back, and give his ass a firm squeeze. Hermann’s fingers slipped down in the cleft of his ass, gently stroking over his entrance. Newt ground back against that hand, only to have Herman pull it away. 

“Hermann…” He whined, lower lip stuck out in a pout as he pulled his lips away, too. 

“Don’t whinge, Newton.” Hermann chided, giving his ass a brief smack, making him yelp. 

Hermann chuckled, kissing the other man’s cheek, gently, as an apology. “You seem to be sufficiently erect, Dr. Geiszler.” He nodded down at Newt’s hardened flesh. “Shall we begin the experiment?”

Newt gulped, and nodded, leaning back on his elbows. 

“This still isn’t gonna work.” Still, he pouted, just a little. If nothing else, he had being right about this on his side. 

“We’ll see.” Hermann sniffed, primly, wrapping his hand around Newt’s cock. “We shall see.” 

He stroked up once, slowly, from root to tip, and Newt’s back arched up into the touch. Then, as before, Hermann pulled his hand completely away. 

“One.” He counted, and Newt whined again. It turned into a keening sound when Hermann wrapped his hand around him once more. This time, he stroked even slower, his touch even lighter. “Two.”

“Did the study specify you had to go this slow?” Newt groaned. 

Hermann smirked, again. “No, that was my own decision.” He stroked him again, in the same way. “My own little _twist_ on things, if you will.” As he said the word, he gave his wrist a little twist at the tip of Newt’s cock. “Three.”

Newt smirked back, after another groan. “You’ve got a long way to go and with only forty-five strokes to use, dude.”

Hermann didn’t reply. He only stroked him six times more, just as slowly, and lightly, counting the numbers as before. Then he sat back, with a perplexed look on his face.

“What?” Newt asked, sitting up a little, wiping the few beads of sweat from his brow.

“Well, it’s just…” He began, pursing his lips for a moment. “It didn’t specify if the word ‘stroke’ refers to root from tip, or tip to root, or a motion of the two combined.”

“You’re asking about this _now_?” Newt gaped. “When we’re like halfway into it? Come on, dude.”

“Well, better I wonder now, then not at all.” Hermann frowned. “It could completely ruin the experiment, after all, if we don’t figure this out.”

“Experiment?” Newt scoffed. “Hermann, for shit’s sake, you’re giving me a handjob.”

“A _scientific_ handjob, thank you very much.” 

Newt groaned again – for less pleasant reasons, this time. “Okay, fine, well we’re halfway into it, now, and you’ve already got like a- a technique going. If we change it up, that’s going to screw up the findings, right?”

“I should imagine so.” He nodded. 

“Okay, so let’s just…” He gestured, frantically, at his swollen cock. 

“Very well. One moment.” Hermann turned away again, to lube his hand up some more. He took far more time doing it than Newt considered necessary, and he fell back on his elbows with an exasperated sigh. 

“You are the biggest cocktease, Hermann, I swear.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything, yet.” He grinned, darkly, and Newt gulped. “We’re only up to number ten, after all.” He gave him one slick, teasing stroke, and Newt groaned at the obscene squelching sound the lube made as it squeezed between Hermann’s fingers.

As they worked their way through eleven, twelve, and thirteen, Hermann gradually began to increase his speed, and his grip grew a bit firmer. By the time they reached twenty, Newt was groaning at every stroke, his hips twitching upward, seeking more stimulation. He’d slipped into his go-to ‘dirty talk’, as well.

“Fuck… yeah… yeah…ah….fuck…” 

“Twenty-one.” Hermann noted, giving Newt a particular firm squeeze this time, causing him to gasp with pleasure. “Twenty-two.” He did it again, and Newt’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes falling shut. “Twenty-three.” Newt’s head jerked to the side, and his hips jerked upwards again, seeking more of that tight, warm, slick grip around him. 

“Twenty-four…” Hermann whispered, and Newt opened his eyes, to see him mere inches away from his face. He shut his eyes again when Hermann’s lips pressed against his, muffling the moan he let out as the other man twisted his wrist. Their tongues tangled together, and Newt wrapped his arms around Hermann, tugging him close as he thrust up into his grip.

Newt felt Hermann’s fingers tracing over his hip, and it took him a minute to realize that he was still counting. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight… he was tracing the numbers out on Newt’s flesh, just over where he had the Kaiju Raythe tattooed.

Something, then, suddenly occurred to Newt, and he turned his head away from the kiss, panting. “What happens when we hit forty-eight?” He asked. 

Hermann blinked, using the back of his hand to wipe a bit of spit from the corner of his mouth. “Well, if the article’s to be believed, you’ll ejaculate.”

“And if I don’t?” He pressed. 

“Then we end the experiment, and render the findings incorrect.” He shrugged. “Twenty-nine.” He gave another stroke, and Newt shuddered. 

“So you’re just going to leave me in the lurch, if I don’t come by then?” Newt frowned, smoothing his hair back, pushing it out of his eyes. 

“Well, if the study’s correct, we won’t have to worry about that, now will we?” Hermann grinned. “Thirty.” A firmer stroke this time, incredibly slow, dragging that pressure all the way up Newt’s hard shaft and swollen cockhead, forcing a little dribble of pre-come out of the tip. 

Newt’s head fell back against the wall, and he gave a pitiful sort of groan – not just from the pleasure, this time, but of the turn of events. Now, it was less of a count-up, and more like a countdown. And when Hermann got to forty-eight, he had to come, or that would be it. He wanted to be right about the experiment being a sham, but right now he wanted to come more than anything. It wasn’t possible, but he was so worked up at this point that he was willing to try. 

“Thirty-one.” 

Oh god, now there was pressure. Not the – of course there was the usual physical pressure. But now there was that added pressure of being able to ejaculate on cue. Didn’t porn stars have to do that, too? Porn stars weren’t exactly rock stars, but Newt was sure he could live up to that rep, here and now. 

“Thirty two.”

After all, it was just biology. A field he’d studied for years. He was an expert in it – probably one of the most renowned ones on the planet, right now. And it was a simple biological response. Get stimulated, ejaculate. Simple. He’d been doing it since his pre-teens, after all. It wasn’t like it was something new. Well… the whole countdown thing was. And being able to come on cue. That was definitely different. 

“Thirty three.”

Different didn’t mean bad, though. Hell, this whole thing had turned out to be pretty kinky. Even Hermann - with his rolled up sleeves, and look of deep concentration - was a pretty sexy sight. And he was so, so good with his hands. Hand, singular, at the moment, for that was all he was using, really. His other was occupied in keeping him propped up on the bed, leaning over Newt. 

“Thirty-four.”

With his top two shirt buttons undone just a little bit. Newt could see the faintest whisper of hair peeking out, and stretch of finely-sculpted muscle he’d come to know after their time together. Goddamn he was sexy. How did Newt end up being so lucky as to land the sexiest, second-smartest man in the whole world?

“Thirty-f-MMPH!” 

Newt smashed his face against Hermann’s, tugging him into a messy, bruising kiss. Hermann reached up, threading his free hand through Newt’s hair, guiding him into a kiss that was much more pleasant for them both. Oh, he was such a good kisser, too. Like, the best. Not even exaggerating. Hermann had a positively _magical_ mouth. 

_36._

His fingers traced over Newt’s hipbone again, as he stroked him, slowly, squeezing another drop of pre-come out of him. Newt let a groan into the other man’s mouth, tugging him closer, doing his best to hold him up over him at the same time. 

_37._

Newt could tell, now, from the angle, that Hermann was aroused, too. Like, rock hard. Rock hard rock star. With rock hard abs, to boot. How long had he been like that? Aroused, not ripped. Newt tried to think, and remember when it would have happened. It was always so hard to tell in those loose-fitting pants of his. With Newt’s it was always embarrassingly hard to hide whenever he had even the tiniest stirrings of arousal. 

Hermann pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Newt’s, his breaths coming in heaving pants. He was getting just as worked up as Newt. 

“Thirty-eight.”

Hell, Hermann could have even been hard reading the article, for all Newt knew. Maybe the idea of toying with Newt like this had turned him on.

“Thirty-nine.”

Was he speeding up?

“Forty.”

Yup.

“Forty-one.”

Oh god, no. No no no, it was too soon. He’d never make it. He’d never-

“Forty-two.”

He could feel his heart pounding. He wanted so badly to come. So, so badly. 

“Forty-three.”

Oh, god, it felt so good. More, more, more, please, more. He was nearly there, he was sure of it. 

“Forty-four.”

Shit. Fuck. No, it wasn’t enough. Faster, tighter, Jesus Hermann, just _**more**_.

“Forty-five.”

Newt let out little gasping cries, now, clinging to Hermann, hips bucking up in desperation. 

“Forty-six.”

It wasn’t possible. It simply could not be. Here he was, trying to will himself into coming, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It was impossible . The mind did not have that kind of power over the body. 

“Forty-seven…” 

Hermann whispered this time, giving a longer, drawn-out stroke. Newt’s body tensed, trying to force out the orgasm that it so desperately craved. He was nearly sobbing, now, chest aching from his laboured breaths. He wanted it so badly. He needed it. He’d go crazy without it. He just needed to… to…

_"Forty-eight.”_

And then it happened. It seemed to take him by surprise, almost. He really hadn’t thought it possible. But… well, there it was. Causing his back to arch, his hips to jerk. Fireworks to go off in his brain, causing him to cry out in absolute rapture. 

Yes, there it was, spilling over Hermann’s hand, shooting upwards to completely ruin his shirt. It felt like he’d waited eons to let it come- to let himself come - and there it was, finally, every little twitch and aftershock forcing more and more out of him. Hermann kept stroking Newt through the orgasm, milking his cock until he had no more left to give. No more need to count the strokes. Their experiment had been completed, after all. It had been a success, as far as both were concerned. 

Well, Newt had been wrong, so that wasn’t an entirely successful outcome, on his part. Given what else he got out of the deal, though, he was willing to let it slide, for now. 

He laid there, basking in the afterglow for some time, distantly aware of Hermann cleaning him up, and stripping out of his own, sullied shirt. Newt glanced at his bare flesh, appreciatively, and ran a hand up and down Hermann’s warm back. The other man smiled down at him, and then retreated into the bathroom, presumably to make short work of his own erection. 

 

Once the door was shut behind him, Newt made his way over to Hermann’s laptop, and opened it. Thankfully, he’d figured out Hermann’s password a few weeks ago, and Hermann had yet to either catch on, or at least change it, so it left Newt access, here and now. 

As soon as the lock screen disappeared, he went poking around on Hermann’s most recently-visited sites. He searched for the article, but strangely did not see it anywhere. 

What he _did_ see, however, was a tab opened to a random number generator. Take a wild guess what the number was that it had generated. 

 

Newt bit his lip, mildly furious at having been tricked. Still, he was a bit smug over the fact that he was not technically _wrong_. He could not be wrong if there had been no article in the first place. And that meant that he could still enjoy this for what it was:

An opportunity for science. 

 

After hitting the ‘Generate’ button, himself, he padded into the bathroom after Hermann, wrapping arms around him from behind. 

“Newton!” Hermann startled, catching himself on the sink, before Newt could knock him over. “What are you doing?” Already he had his pants unbuttoned, but hadn’t yet shucked them or his underwear down. He hadn’t yet touched himself. Perfect. 

“I had some thoughts about that experiment.” Newt explained, running one hand up and down Hermann’s stomach, while the other teased at the hipbone beneath his waistband.

“Oh?” Hermann’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed, hard. “Did you, now?”

“Mm-hm.” Newt nodded against his neck, pressing warm kisses to the damp, sweaty flesh of his shoulderblade. “I figured… we couldn’t really call it a proper experiment with only one test subject, right?” His hand slid a little further into Hermann’s briefs. 

“I… I suppose.” Hermann stammered, his face red. 

“I mean, we can’t base our findings off of one trial.” Newt continued, circling a finger over the tender flesh near Hermann’s cock. “That’s just one success. I mean, you’re the math guy, Hermann.” He scraped his blunt nails over that same area, and Hermann hissed with pleasure and impatience. “How many attempts do you think it would take us to reach a solid conclusion? We should probably plot out a graph-”

“Oh, _do_ get on with it, Newton.” He growled, putting his hand overtop Newt’s, pressing it against his engorged cock. 

Newt grinned, giving him a single, languid stroke. 

“One…”


End file.
